My Doggie and I by R. M. Ballantyne (free e books to read .TXT) 📖

I smiled, but refused to move until the fate of Dumps was ascertained.

Presently the fireman returned with my doggie in his arms.

Poor Dumps! He was a pitiable sight. Tons of hot water had been pouring on his devoted head, and his shaggy, shapeless coat was so plastered to his long, little body, that he looked more like a drowned weazel than a terrier. He was trembling violently, and whined piteously, as they gave him to me; nevertheless, he attempted to wag his tail and lick my hands. In both attempts he failed. His tail was too wet to wag—but it wriggled.

“He’d have saved himself, sir,” said the man who brought him, “only there was a rope round his neck, which had caught on a coal-scuttle and held him. He’s not hurt, sir, though he do seem as if some one had bin tryin’ to choke him.”

“My poor doggie!” said I, fondling him.

“He won’t want washin’ for some time to come,” observed one of the bystanders.

There was a laugh at this.

“Come; now the dog is safe you have no reason for refusing to go with me,” said the elderly gentleman, who, I now understood, was the master of the burning house.

As we walked away he asked my name and profession, and I thought he smiled with peculiar satisfaction when I said I was a student of medicine.

“Oh, indeed!” he said; “well—we shall see. But here we are. This is the house of my good friend Dobson. City man—capital fellow, like all City men—ahem! He has put his house at my disposal at this very trying period of my existence.”

“But are you sure, Dr McTougall, that all the household is saved?” I asked, becoming more thoroughly awake to the tremendous reality of the scene through which I had just passed.

“Sure! my good fellow, d’you think I’d be talking thus quietly to you if I were not sure? Yes, thanks to you and the firemen, under God, there’s not a hair of their heads injured.”

“Are you—I beg pardon—are you quite sure? Have you seen Miss McTougall since she—”

“Miss McTougall!” exclaimed the doctor, with a laugh. “D’you mean my little Jenny by that dignified title?”

“Well, of course, I did not know her name, and she is not very large; but I brought her down the shoot with such violence that—”

An explosion of laughter from the doctor stopped me as I entered a large library, the powerful lights of which at first dazzled me.

“Here, Dobson, let me introduce you to the man who has saved my whole family, and who has mistaken Miss Blythe for my Jenny!—Why, sir,” he continued, turning to me, “the bundle you brought down so unceremoniously is only my governess. Ah! I’d give twenty thousand pounds down on the spot if she were only my daughter. My Jenny will be a lucky woman if she grows up to be like her.”

“I congratulate you, Mr Mellon,” said the City man, shaking me warmly by the hand.

“You have acted with admirable promptitude—which is most important at a fire—and they tell me that the header you took into the escape, with Miss Blythe in your arms, was the finest acrobatic feat that has been seen off the stage.”

“I say, Dobson, where have you stowed my wife and the children? I want to introduce him to them.”

“In the dining-room,” returned the City man. “You see, I thought it would be more agreeable that they should be all together until their nerves are calmed, so I had mattresses, blankets, etcetera, brought down. Being a bachelor, as you know, I could do nothing more than place the wardrobes of my domestics at the disposal of the ladies. The things are not, indeed, a very good fit, but—this way, Mr Mellon.”

The City man, who was tall and handsome, ushered his guests into what he styled his hospital, and there, ranged in a row along the wall, were five shakedowns, with a child on each. Seldom have I beheld a finer sight than the sparkling lustre of their ten still glaring eyes! Two pleasant young domestics were engaged in feeding the smaller ones with jam and pudding. We arrange the words advisedly, because the jam was, out of all proportion, too much for the pudding. The elder children were feeding themselves with the same materials, and in the same relative proportions. Mrs McTougall, in a blue cotton gown with white spots, which belonged to the housemaid, reclined on a sofa; she was deadly pale, and the expression of horror was not quite removed from her countenance.

Beside her, administering restoratives, sat Miss Blythe, in a chintz dress belonging to the cook, which was ridiculously too large for her. She was dishevelled and flushed, and looked so pleasantly anxious about Mrs McTougall that I almost forgave her having robbed me of my doggie.

“Miss Blythe, your deliverer!” cried the little doctor, who seemed to delight in blowing my trumpet with the loudest possible blast; “my dear, your preserver!”

I bowed in some confusion, and stammered something incoherently. Mrs McTougall said something else, languidly, and Miss Blythe rose and held out her hand with a pleasant smile.

“Well, if this isn’t one of the very jolliest larks I ever had!” exclaimed Master Harry from his corner, between two enormous spoonfuls.

“Hah!” exclaimed Master Jack.

He could say no more. He was too busy!

We all laughed, and, much to my relief, general attention was turned to the little ones.

“You young scamps!—the ‘lark’ will cost me some thousands of pounds,” said the doctor.

“Never mind, papa. Just go to the bank and they’ll give you as much as you want.”

“More pooding!” demanded Master Job. The pleasant-faced domestic hesitated.

“Oh! give it him. Act the banker on this occasion, and give him as much as he wants,” said the doctor.

“Good papa!” exclaimed the overjoyed Jenny; “how I wis’ we had a house on fire every night!”

Even Dolly crowed with delight at this, as if she really appreciated the idea, and continued her own supper with increased fervour.

Thus did that remarkable family spend the small hours of that morning, while their home was being burned to ashes.